


Otterly Ridiculous Behavior

by ciaconnaa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, I'm here to bring you the G rated first date cute y'all deserve, warning: several references to finding nemo, with those STRONG pride and prejudice hand holding vibes you KNOW the ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: “You'd be that one." He presses his finger to the glass. "The pink-ish, orange-ish, yellow-ish, purple-ish -”“-just say rainbow-”“-rainbow fish. Look at her. She’s so pretty. Bet she’s real smart, too. Her eyes just scream intelligence, you know? All the other fish have a three second memory, but I bet she’s got like a five second memory. Maybe six. She’s clearly queen of the tank.”“You’re a real dork, you know that?”“Says the captain of the academic decathlon team.”or;Peter, MJ, and a date at the aquarium





	Otterly Ridiculous Behavior

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/gifts).



> y'all need more cute in this tag it's just unacceptable so here *tosses flower petals* enjoy

“So? What do you think?”

Michelle already feels the humid, sticky summer heat at the back of her neck as she stares at what has got to be the _ugliest_ car in all of Queens: a rusted, antique Volkswagen Beetle.

“I haven’t gotten to the paint yet,” Peter goes on to say. Which is very, very obvious. The car was very clearly red once upon a time, except for the passenger’s door, which is _powder_ _blue._  His hands run over the top of the hood and Michelle’s own could blister just thinking about how hot the metal is. She grips the straps of her backpack a little tighter as a distraction. “Honestly, I might just leave the paint as is.” Of course that’s his plan. “But everything else is working! I overhauled the engine, updated the AC and heater; Mister Stark even helped me put a sound system in it. It’s really nice!”

Nice isn’t the word she would really pick for this whole _aesthetic,_ but she’s not about to chip away at Peter’s smile. She’s known that he’s worked on this car when he could squeeze in the time since Tony helped him salvage it from a junkyard for his sixteenth birthday. Though, a Volkswagen Beetle isn’t really what she envisioned when Peter said he had found a really cool vintage car. Sure, small cars in New York are pretty convenient, but what is so great about some dinky little punch bug -

Oh.

Oh no.

“You _didn’t,”_ Michelle groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You did not buy this hunk of junk for a pun only Ned and I will understand.”

Peter takes a jump to the side, gesturing to the car with enthusiastic jazz hands. “It’s Spidey’s Slug Bug!”

“No.”

“Punch Buggy: Spidey Punches Back.”

“No.”

“Beetlejuice?”

“Copyright Infringement. Also, no.”

“SuperBug.”

“Sounds like a virus. No.”

“The Bugmobile.”

“...No.”

Peter lights up. “You _hesitated_. Which means you don’t hate it. Alright, alright. Tentative title: The Bugmobile.” He steps back toward the car and opens the mismatched powder blue door for her. “Ready?”

She slips off her backpack and slides in, mindful of the hem of her summer dress. The door makes a horrible squeaking noises as Peter puts a little too much gusto into shutting it before he rounds the hood and gets into the driver’s seat.

The heat is immediately stifling, even though the car couldn’t have been parked for more than ten minutes. Michelle swallows her huff of amusement as she uses the manual lever to roll the window down; even though everything in Peter’s car works, it still isn’t without it’s needed dose of elbow grease.

Peter turns the car on, blasting the AC, but leaves it in park as he starts swiping through his phone. “I need the perfect summer song.”

Michelle lets him talk and mumble to himself as she settles her backpack at her feet, undoing the clasp and rummaging inside to make sure she has everything. She snags her sunglasses and a hair tie before she zips it back up. She vaguely recognizes the upbeat pop song Peter’s put on as she hastens to tie her hair in a messy top bun. The stragglers stick to her face with sweat and she really can’t wait until the stale, smelly city air is blasting her in the face.

That’s when she notices they’re still in park. When she looks over, Peter’s got his arms crossed over the top of the wheel, resting one cheek on them as he gives her a dopey smile.

“Can I help you?” she asks slowly, arching a brow.

He’s still smiling. “You look really pretty.” If possible, the wattage on his smile gets bigger.

She slides on her sunglasses, hoping it’ll cover the reddening of her cheeks; it it doesn’t, she’ll blame it on the heat anyway. “Let’s dim _that,”_ Michelle teases, reaching forward to turn an imaginary knob by his mouth, making him laugh. Oh, look at that: shitty dimmer. “And get going. To this surprise whatever you’re dragging me to.”

Peter puts the car into drive and then pulls out into the streets without even _looking,_ but Michelle supposes that’s the perks of his sixth spider sense or whatever it is Ned calls it. “Surprise date. That you agreed to. You’re gonna love it.” He drums his hands on the wheel a few times to the beat of the song, pausing to mouth the lyrics. “Like, it’s _so good.”_

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Michelle is pretty good at reading a room, observing the people around her, and basically knowing what all her friends are gonna do before they do it. But Peter has a certain unpredictability factor that she doesn’t often come across in anyone, anywhere. It’s pretty bogus, ruining her streaks and tanking her stats and whatnot, but it does keep things interesting.

Sometimes.

But this time, she’s not sure interesting is the right word. She waits until he pulls into a dedicated lot to state her skepticism. “Are we seriously going to the _aquarium?”_

“Yeah!” Peter bursts out, childlike excitement sparkling in his eyes. “It’s gonna be fun! You like fish; or at least you like drawing them.”

Michelle kicks lightly at the backpack at her feet, doing a mental checklist; her new pencils aren’t in there, but she’s got a pretty fresh sketchpad - the old one had finally had it’s time, half the pages torn out and the half left behind stained with coffee rings. Her sketchbooks aren’t themed or organized, but thinking back, Michelle remembers the last one _did_ happen to have a lot of fish. Pure coincidence. There was the fish tank at the doctor’s office, her neighbor’s saltwater aquarium, the poor goldfish in bags at fairs. If you had asked her if she particularly _liked_ fish, Michelle would probably say no, but Peter picked up on her patterns. Learned something about herself that she didn’t know.

Turns out, Michelle does like drawing fish.

So she doesn’t refute his statement, and let’s Peter round the car to open the passenger’s door for her because even though it’s antiquated and not her style, she knows he’s doing it because that’s how he was raised - he always saw Ben getting the door for May, giving her his jacket without asking, pulling out her chair at a restaurant, and Peter wants to do the same for Michelle. She knows it comes from a place of respect and care, so she swallows her feminist rants and even lets him take her hand to help her out. The chivalry continues when he pays for the tickets (courtesy of Stark Industries and everything Tony Stark, so it doesn’t really count) and when he wordlessly grabs her backpack before they enter the building (he’s got super strength, so it doesn’t really count), but luckily his childish behavior comes back full throttle when they find themselves in the main atrium.

“Aw yeah. This is it.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, making wafting motions with both hands. “That sweet, sweet salty air. If you’re real quiet, you can hear the ocean waves.”

The aquarium, despite being a decent New York City attraction, is only moderately occupied today; but it is in no way quiet. Peter’s ears in particular can’t be having the best time, but if that’s the case, it doesn’t bother him. He’s too enraptured by the soft blue lighting in the building as he tugs her towards the tropical fish section and sits down right beside the lion fish tank that’s across from the enormous jellyfish exhibits.

“Jellyfish are really cool,” Peter whispers in her ear, as if they’re in a movie theater and not a semi-packed family attraction full of excited children. “I know they’re really poisonous-”

“Venomous.”

He squints, a playful retort practically on the tip of his tongue, but he takes a deep breath and slants his smile. “- _venomous_...and not exactly as trampoline-like as they are in Finding Nemo, but I think it would be really cool to swim with them. Under the waves,” he finishes quietly, moving his arm in an undulating pattern. “Just to look at them. They’re so pretty.”

Michelle can’t argue with that. Even more so than fish, jellies are something that aren’t particularly nice to look at outside of water. Their translucent, feathery, sometimes luminescent qualities are best seen in bright blue waters. They’re really pretty - but they seem immensely difficult to draw.

That doesn’t stop Peter from pulling out her sketchpad and pencils and dropping them in her lap. “Go ahead,” he gestures to the tank before he pointedly looks up and away. “I won’t watch.”

With a roll of her eyes she flicks the pages open, not caring what page it falls on. She scribbles a date at the top corner before gently tugging on his sleeve; he whips his head back, eyes gleaming, before he rests his head on her shoulder to, yes, watch.

“Draw one of the pink ones,” he murmurs quietly.

“It’s just a sketch,” she says, just as soft, but she focuses in on the neon pink ones like he asked. “I don’t have any pink paints.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs, jostling her a bit in the process. “I’ll know it’s the pink one.”

Peter gets uncharacteristically quiet as she spends the next fifteen minutes or so sketching out the jellyfish. It’s not her best work (animals and people never really are, and all the passing people and general noise don’t really help) but even she can see the improvement she’s made over the past several months. All in all, not a bad attempt.

When she sets the pencil aside and all but shoves the notebook under Peter’s nose, he’s still resting on her shoulder. His eyes scan over the page before he finally lifts his head, giving her a grin.

“It’s really good,” Peter tells her, and she knows he really thinks that; it makes her heart do a weird flip flop. “You made it look easy.”

This time when her heart flips again, a blush warms her face as well, and she hastens to stuff her things back in her bag and get a move on with the rest of aquarium. “C’mon,” she tells him as he swings the backpack over one shoulder, “There’s more fish in the sea.”

He laughs at her _terrible_ joke, letting her give a playful shove to his arm, as they make their way to the large tropical fish exhibit. The tunnel-like halls open up to a larger, brighter room. It’s like there’s a hole in the roof and the sunshine is spilling in. Peter ends up standing between two literal six year olds with his nose practically pressed to the glass as he looks up, watching as the water crashes at the top of the curved, wall-sized tank. The illusion is impressive. It feels like they’re right below the shore of a warm beach.

Michelle waits for the kids to take their pictures and point out all the _Dory’s_ they see before she joins a wonder-filled, slack-jawed Peter.

“Which one am I?” he asks, tipping his head towards her.

She frowns, furrowing her brow, but keeps her eyes on the tank, hands clasped behind her back. “Are you asking me which fish you would be….if you were a fish?”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“It’s fun!”

She heaves a sigh, scanning the tank for something bright, loud, and annoying. Maybe something with a spider pattern on its side. But instead she settles on the most haggard looking  blue tang in the tank. The blue tang that’s seen some shit. “That one.” She taps gently on the glass, hoping that’ll do a lick of good. “The royal blue tang. With the scar.”

“Dory?” Peter laughs. “Why am I Dory?”

“You’re _very_ forgetful.”

“Hey!” he laughs a little louder before she feels his gaze on her. “I’ve only forgotten about decathlon practice _twice_ since you’ve been captain. And for very good...spidery reasons.”

“Hmm.”

Peter scrunches his nose before he focuses back on the fish. Eventually, he presses his index finger to the glass and declares, “You’re _that one.”_

Which doesn’t really narrow down the choices. At all.

“You suck at pointing. Be more specific.”

“Clearly, I’m pointing to the prettiest one.”

_“Peter.”_

This time his laugh sounds more like some half swallowed wheeze before he puts both hands on each of her shoulders and moves her to where he was standing. “Right….there. The pink-ish, orange-ish, yellow-ish, _purple-ish -”_

“-just say _rainbow-”_

“-rainbow fish. Look at her. She’s so pretty. Bet she’s real smart, too. Her eyes just scream intelligence, you know? All the other fish have a three second memory, but I bet she’s got like a _five_ second memory. Maybe six. She’s clearly queen of the tank.”

“You’re a real dork, you know that?”

“Says the captain of the academic decathlon team.”

She bumps her shoulder with his. He bumps hers back.

The rest of their pace through the tropical tanks is slow; Peter reads all the info plaques, names literally all of the seahorses, and spends five minutes trying to see if the eel will come out of its hiding place. But he picks up the pace when they exit and come so the entrance of the biggest part of the aquarium: complete with their largest tank, built to be walked under.

Peter steps onto the slow moving conveyor belt without even looking; his head is craned up, looking at the large whale shark that swims overhead. He lets out a loud gasp, tugging Michelle close when a giant manta ray does the same thing. “I didn’t know they were that _big!”_ he whispers in awe. “Aw, they’re so cool.”

Michelle takes a moment to look over at him, grin about to split his face. Often times when she sees Peter, the... _inbetweens_ are hard to forget. The vacant tired looks when he thinks Ned isn’t looking, the worried lip chewing he does in math class when his mind is wandering, the sad glint in his eye when something presses a haunting memory a little too closely to the forefront of his mind. They happen a lot, only for a few moments, before he realizes where he is and who is and that everything _Spider-Man_ can’t be on display. Then his trademark smile pops back on his face and life goes on like nothing happened.

But right now there’s no inbetween. Peter Parker is simply happy and calm, babbling about what it’d be like to be hugged by a manta ray.

It’s worth it to just watch.

When they make it to the ridiculously huge viewing room, there’s an energy shift, but it’s not unwelcomed. The room is dark like a theater, with seats that stagger like one, too, and the tank doesn’t disappoint in comparison to a movie screen. There’s quite a lot of people, but voices are hushed as they all sit and take pictures.

Peter leads the way in picking a seat near the front, and Michelle barely has enough time to sit beside him before he’s shaking off the backpack and setting it in her lap, declaring it his pillow and resting his head on it.

Michelle doesn’t say anything. Her hand finds its way into Peter’s hair and plays with the curled ends before she presses her blunt nails into his scalp and starts scratching. He hums, pleased, before he shifts a little to get a good look at the tank.

“There’s a sea turtle here,” Peter tells her. “Or at least, there’s supposed to be. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“A _Where’s Waldo_ situation,” Michelle laments, and Peter huffs out a small chuckle. “I was really good at those.”

He turns his head back to look up at her once more. “I bet you were,” he smiles.

“I’ll find it,” Michelle promises, eyes already scanning the tank. “In the meantime, why don’t you find the ugliest grouper so we can take a picture of it. We’re gonna send it to the decathlon group chat and caption it _Eugene.”_

That makes Peter laugh louder, enough to make a few heads turn, but it’s all forgotten when a small girl at the front squeals when one of the sharks swims by her face. “Deal,” he says. “Turtle first, Eugene the Fish later.”

It takes fifteen minutes to find the turtle, and not from Michelle’s lack of observation. The tank is huge, so it takes it’s time to make it’s way over, but when it does it’s well worth the wait. Peter finally sits up and grabs her arm, gasping with the same excitement he did with the manta ray.

“Oh my god, it’s _amazing!_ Look at it!”

“It’s very cool.”

He nods. “I wish there were baby sea turtles here. Like, I know they’re primo fish food,” he whispers that part like it’s a swear, as if some kid listening in mistakenly thinks Squirt from Finding Nemo was eaten. “But baby sea turtles are sooooo cute.”

“Agreed.”

“Jellyfish are cool. Like, they’re super cool. Boneless, brainless, nothing but deadly nerves, _love them._ But swimming with sea turtles would be infinitely better.”

The academic nerd in her just _jumps out._ “They can swim up to 35km an hour. I don’t think even _Spider-Man,”_ she whispers that part, “Could keep up.”

He turns to her, squinting. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It really isn’t.”

“What you just said. That was definitely a challenge.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna race a _sea turtle_.”

“When.”

“Uh! One day. Maybe...yeah, one day. Don’t worry. You’ll get the invitation in the mail.”

“Jesus. _Christ._ ”

“RSVP will be a must.”

“You’ll lose. You’ll literally lose.”

“We’ll see.” Peter lets it go with one last laugh before he jumps up, phone in hand, and gets real close to the glass. He takes a few pictures of the sea turtle before he takes a few of the ugliest grouper in the tank. A few moments later, Michelle’s phone _pings_ with a notification that the photo _Eugene the Fish!_ Has been sent to the Decathlon group chat. It’s only a matter of minutes before Flash responds with a series of ridiculous swears and nonsensical emojis.

“Hey,” Peter whispers in her ear when he comes back over, already claiming her backpack once more. “Ready to see the _best_ animals in the whole aquarium?”

Michelle shrugs, but takes his outstretched hand as he hauls her up. He uses a little too much of that patented Spider Strength and she stumbles into him, almost slipping off the step, but Peter’s reflexes are just as quick as he is strong and he catches her, pulling her flush against him for a just a moment. The thin strap of her sundress slips off her shoulder and Peter’s quick to move it back to its proper place before he lets her go.

Peter smiles at her like it’s no big deal, and she knows it isn’t, but logic isn’t keeping her small blush at bay.

They leave the deep sea tanks and make way to the polar exhibits, in which they are immediately bombarded by dozens of penguins, all of which are very excited that it’s snack time. Most of the penguins are crowded by the keeper’s feet, fighting over the fish, but a few with their bellies full jump into the water, swimming back and forth.

“How fast can a penguin swim?” he asks her.

Michelle tilts her head, thinking. “Not sure,” she admits. Never fond of being caught not knowing, she adds a fact she _does_ know. “But these can dive 400 feet.”

A little girl next to them overhears and looks up at her. “Really? 400 feet? That’s so _far.”_

Peter nods along with her, enthusiastic. “I know! They’re really cool.”

“Penguins are my favorite animal,” she goes on to say and then looks up at her like she expects more fun facts to spill out of Michelle’s mouth.

Luckily for that little girl, Michelle is a big giant nerd. “Mine too,” she finds herself saying, even though she hasn’t spent a lot of time the past few years wondering what her favorite animal is. She really has no idea. Maybe it’s seahorses. Or sea turtles. Hell, it might even be jellyfish. But for the little girl, they can be penguins.  “Did you know that penguins are only found in the southern hemisphere?”

“I did!” she lights up, clapping her hands together. “Emperor penguins live in Antarctica. Those are my _most_ favorite penguins. They’re also the _biggest_ penguins!”

Michelle nods. She’s not good with kids like Peter is, and she doesn’t do very well feigning shock or surprise on their behalf, but she hopes her smile is genuine enough. “I didn’t know that,” she lies. “That’s very cool, thanks for telling me.”

The girl’s mother, busy wrangling her other two small boys, grabs the little girl’s attention and pulls her further down the line of the penguin exhibit. She passes Michelle, mouthing a _thank you,_ before all the kids start running towards the far end where there’s a children’s interactive part of the exhibit.

“You didn’t know Emperor Penguins were the largest penguin species?” Peter snorts, clearly over exaggerating in his distaste. “I think that’s probable cause to revoke your captain status.”

She pokes him in the chest and pushes him back, and he laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“You’d better be. I can’t be replaced.”

“I know. Not in a million years.” His smile is all dopey and endearing, sitting crooked on his face. “But: penguins? Really? They’re your favorite?” he teases.

She rolls her eyes. He _knows_ she was just trying to be nice to that kid, but now she won’t ever live it down.  “Yeah. Guess that’s something we have in common.”

“Oh, no,” Peter shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong. Penguins are rad, but they’re not my favorite.”

“Then what _is._ ”

He doesn’t say. Instead, he wraps his arm around her wrist and gently guides her to the next part of the aquarium, letting go when they’re in front of the next big exhibit.

Sea otters.

The expression on Peter’s face could only be explained as pure bliss. The exhibit has two sea otters that swim around, almost dancing with each other, occasionally bumping up against the glass or playing with the toys that bounce in the constantly jostling water.

She waits for him to go on some otter fact spiel or the like, but it doesn’t happen. Hell, she’s not even certain if he’s still aware she’s there judging by how his eyes follow the otters, never straying. But then he blinks, looking over at her with a smile she hasn’t quite seen today: soft, almost tired, but oh so warm.

“Sometimes, otters hold hands,” he whispers and his own hand twitches at his side, fingers curling, before he reaches over and grabs Michelle’s hand, weaving their fingers together. “So they don’t float away.”

It’s cheesy, it’s corny, it’s so completely _Peter Parker,_ that Michelle doesn’t even want to mention how cliche, “rom-com” that move is because her heart is doing flips in her chest, and it’s not a feeling she’s entirely opposed to.

She takes a deep breath and leans into him, squeezing his hand back.

Michelle doesn’t realize how long they stand there, holding hands and watching otters, but eventually Peter starts to gently swing their hands back and forth. When she looks over at him, he’s back to his casual Peter Parker self, a giant dork with no nerves about holding her hand. “Hey.”

She waits.

“You look really pretty,” he tells her. “I don’t know if I mentioned that.”

“You did,” Michelle says, needlessly, because they both know he said it. “See? This is why you’re Dory.”

He’s not bothered in the slightest. Just continues to look at her like he's not said something so cheesy before he moves on. “Hey, have you ever drawn a sea otter?”

“No,” She admits. “But I can try.”

Peter grins and they step away from the glass, settling against the opposite wall not too far away. The concrete floors aren’t ideal for sitting, especially in some thin summer dress, so she leans against the wall and gestures for her supplies.

He opens it, fishing out her pencils and notebook, and hands them over, before swinging the backpack over one shoulder again. “I’m gonna go get something for us to eat. I’ll be back in a second.”

It’s different, drawing without Peter over her shoulder. She’s not about to admit that she _misses_ it because she’s much faster and more efficient without someone staring at her while she works, but in a noisy, unfamiliar place, his presence was calming; the same effect of watching a fish swim back and forth to reduce anxiety.

She doesn’t get very detailed in her sketch - just the face of the otter really - because her phone starts blowing up. It seems the entire decathlon team has looked at their phone simultaneously and Flash is _not_ happy about being compared to a grouper fish. Betty and Ned think it’s hilarious, if their series of crying emojis is anything to go by. Sure, this will probably bite her in the butt at the next meeting via Flash’s incessant complaining and whining, but it’s well worth it.

Eventually, Peter returns with a large soda and a hotdog, of all things. She didn’t realize she was a little hungry until she saw the food, and is quick to set her stuff down. “Gimme, gimme,” she gestures with grabby hands, and Peter laughs, making the trade, and putting her pencils and sketch pad in her bag for her. “Why a hotdog? This is an aquarium shouldn’t they have shrimp? Tilapia? Fried catfish?”

“Uhhh,” Peter scoffs. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s an aquarium. Which is why you can’t just eat _fish_ in front of the _fish._ That’s like...second degree cannibalism.”

“Second degree cannibalism.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“I really need to...adjust the roster for the team….” she teases, and Peter pouts in retaliation. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she finally says, mimicking him from earlier. “But for real: I’m doing a marine themed practice sheet next week, just to mess with Flash,” and she shows him her phone with all the group chat drama.

As Peter snickers and scrolls, Michelle finally takes a bite of the food. “Oh, good,” she says, mouth full. “You don’t put ketchup on your hotdogs either.”

He taps his nose. “I know you. I know what’s up.” He nods to the drink. “For instance, that’s a Dr. Pepper. Because you literally don’t drink any other soda.”

Michelle stares him down while she takes a long gulp. “There’s no other good soda.” She takes one more bite of the hotdog before she passes it to Peter, shooing her hands to let him know he can have the rest. He takes an inhuman sized bite that devours most of what’s left. She has the decency to wait until he’s finished chewing to ask,  “What now?”

“Well,” Peter sighs, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders again. “We did the aquarium. Finished the quest. Mission complete.” He tips his head back, nodding towards where the supposed exit is. “We can head back, if you’re ready. The Bugmobile awaits.”

Michelle shakes her head, just a tad exasperated. “Only if you don’t call it the Bugmobile.”

Her free hand twitches, fingers curling, before she reaches out to grab Peter’s hand.

He instantly locks their fingers together and the two of them head out, hand in hand. “But you liked -!” he stops, taking the last bite of the hot dog, chewing thoughtfully. “Okay,” he finally says, swallowing the last of it and tossing the garbage in the closest bin. “What about - now get ready. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Webster!”

“No.”

“What! But that one’s actually good!”

“No, it’s not. It’s lame.”

“C’mon, MJ, work with me!”

The ride home is full of more terrible name ideas from Peter, followed by Michelle’s completely rational rejection of every single one because, honestly? Buggy, The Ladybug, Cobweb. They’re all such terrible names. But that doesn’t stop Peter from playfully snagging the Dr. Pepper and stealing sips every time his feeling are particularly _“hurt”._

They’re parking by her house when he comes up with his last ditch effort of the day. “Silk.”

Michelle lifts her bag into her lap and pauses, eyes squinted in thought. Peter lights up, excited at the prospect that she’s either 1) finally playing along or 2) liking his idea of naming a superhero getaway car.

“Silk,” she agrees. “But an _acronym.”_

“Ohhhhhhh,” Peter lets out a deep breath before it dissolves into something that can be described as laughter. His head momentarily drops onto the wheel. “Oh, that’s so good. That’s sooooooo good.  S.I.L.K. What does it stand for?”

“Spidey’s -”

“-Incredibly….Lovely….Car. Well, Kar. Spelled with a K.”

“Car spelled with a K.”

“...we’ll work on the acronym later.”

With that, he kills the engine and hops out of the car, circling the front to open her door as per the routine. But this time, when he offers his hand to help her out she doesn’t let go, opting to sling her backpack over one shoulder instead.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. There’s a breeze, just a slight one, and the heat isn’t so sticky anymore. “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” she admitted. “I’ll leave a positive Yelp review and everything,” That makes him chuckle, and he grabs her hand a little tighter. “Wouldn’t mind going again, sometime.”

“Yeah?” When she nods the affirmative, he brightens more, and a small part of her wishes she hadn’t joked about the dimmer when she first got in the car that early afternoon. His smile is really something else. “Well, then sure. We can go back to the aquarium. But maybe we can try a few other things first. Like the zoo.”

“Zoo might be fun,” Michelle admits. “Giraffes are tall and cool to look at.”

“They are, but tigers are where it’s at,” Peter counters. “But yeah, the zoo. And then maybe...the MOMA. And then a Mets game. The beach.”

“Where you’ll challenge a sea turtle?”

“Where I’ll challenge a sea turtle.” He gives her a gentle tug, pulls her just a smidge closer to him, away from the car. “Then the coffee shop down the road. Coney Island. That flea market in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“All those places, huh?”

That smile is back, the same one he gave her back when they were looking at the otters. His gaze flutters about, all over her face, before he finally leans forward and leaves a feather kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah. All those places.”

He drops her hand, or tries to, but Michelle reaches out and catches his fingers before he can get away. He looks back up, brow just _slightly_ furrowed before she takes a step towards him and gives him the same feather like kiss he did to her, right on his lips.

“Sounds good,” she agrees. “The first one was the zoo. Next Saturday?”

Peter _beams._ “Next Saturday!” he shouts, voice raised because she’s already walking away, towards her apartment entrance. “Me and S.I.L.K. will pick you up!”

“Work on the acronym!”

“It’s gonna be car with a K! We both know it!”

He waves at her, leaning against the ugliest car in Queens, waiting for her to get inside safely. When she makes it up to her place and starts to settle in her room, she can still see him parked on the street, sitting in his car and trying to find yet another _perfect summer song_ before driving away.

When he finally disappears into traffic, Michelle tosses her backpack on her bed, unzipping it with haste to get at her sketchpad. She wonders if there’s something she can do with that jellyfish sketch, maybe use some watercolors to make it look -

She reaches in and instead pulls out a small penguin plush.

“What the…”

_Peter._

He had her backpack when he went to buy food. He must have bought this and snuck it in her bag while she was sketching. It’s cheesy, it’s corny, it’s something so _Peter Parker_ that even though Michelle doesn’t really like stuffed animals (not ever, not even when she was like, _six)_ she likes this one. She kind of likes this one a lot.

Damn him.

She waits a few minutes before she snaps a picture of him and sends it to Peter: _Stowaway_ she texts. _The aquarium isn’t going to like this_

Peter’s reply is almost instant: _Do you like him!? :D_

Ugh, Peter is so _lame._ Why does he have to be so cute? _I do,_ she texts back. And just to screw with him a little bit, she adds, _I named him Tony Stark._

Peter’s next reply is even faster, though not very coherent. _Ejhegkhlhlhsgs_

 _He’s going to sit on my desk,_ she texts, _and look over all my homework. My new Patron God of Calculus Worksheets._

Peter keyboard smashes again. _Lhkjehljsh and you said I was bad at coming up with names!!!! When we go to the zoo, you aren’t allowed to name the giraffe we get Captain America, Patron God of Art History Reports or whatever. Got it?_

 _We’re stealing a giraffe? I don’t think it’ll fit in S.I.L.K. Or my room._ she types back.   _PS: do not buy me another stuffed animal._

It’s a few more minutes before he replies. _Just try and stop me!! :D_

She doesn’t think she will.

 _Oh,_ he adds on. _And just in case my Dory brain acts up next Saturday…_

She waits.

_You look really pretty._

**Author's Note:**

> thx arden for letting my adhd brain run wild so I can finally finish A Fic, even tho this one wasn't the irondad fic. but that one's a'comin'. I swear
> 
> anyway @everybody else, lemme know what you think!


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